


Ashes

by The_Hitmage



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Comfort/Angst, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-10-06 15:34:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10337868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Hitmage/pseuds/The_Hitmage
Summary: After taking a short break from Overwatch, Fareeha returns to the team and is suddenly faced with more responsibility than she was ever ready for.





	1. And if you don't love me now, you will never love me again.

Considering the lack of change around the Swiss Overwatch base after a ten-year absence, Fareeha hadn’t expected much to happen during her month off. She had found herself unsurprised to be greeted in the hangar by Lena, who zipped to her side the second the door to her shuttle hissed and cracked to expel air.

 

“’ello love! How was the holiday?” She chirped, slapping the Egyptian on the back. Fareeha was unruffled by the motion, but couldn’t help the small smile that escaped her lips.

 

“Hello, Lena.” Fareeha replied cordially. The shuttle door had lowered enough for her to finally duck out. “It was fine, thanks. Spent most of it relaxing.” The dull ache between her temples reminded Fareeha that her relaxation was often companied by alcohol, partially to help her sleep, and also to help abate the unwarranted searing of her heart whenever she was reminded of the reason she was on holiday in the first place.

 

Lena skipped beside her, and as if reading her mind, lowered a gloved hand to Fareeha’s shoulder.

 

“She’s missed yah, by the way. Doc is usually a bit of a hermit, but she’s taken the absolute piss the last few weeks.” Fareeha shrugged off her hand, pretending not to hear her. Lena opened her mouth to speak, but rather uncharacteristically decided to keep silent for the rest of their journey. The next time she spoke, it was to bid Fareeha farewell as they passed the kitchen. Snatches of conversation broke through the gap in the door as Lena blinked through.

 

 _‘My daughter is a professional. Her heart may ache, but her resolve is strong.’_ Fareeha resisted the previous urge to greet her mother, and froze outside the still ajar door.

 

 _‘That’s the first holiday ‘Ree’s taken in years, Ana. And if Genji’s monitoring is anythin’ to go by, the girl just did me proud in her drinkin’ game.’_ That was McCree’s drawl, no doubt. Fareeha blushed.

 

 _‘Exactly. It is out of her system.’_ Anna surmised, _‘She will be ready for whatever we face. Now, I won’t hear any more of this. Treat her normally, or else.’_ Fareeha heard the scrape of a chair and quickly dashed as silently as she could down the hallway. She made good progress, until she rounded a corner and found herself blocked by a rather hairy wall.

 

“Ooft!” Fareeha groaned, as she fell backwards onto her ass. Her luggage slid across the floor, coming to a halt as it collided with the wall. Winston looked down at her apologetically, offering a hand to help her to her feet.

 

“Fareeha! My apologies…oh! You’re back! How was your holiday?” Winston asked, jerking her back into a standing position. Fareeha nursed her ribs as she moved to retrieve her bag.

 

“Fine. I didn’t drink a lot.” She defended automatically, then cursed. “I mean, I relaxed. Thanks.” She shuffled past Winston, and continued down the hall. Her feet moved on autopilot, following a familiar path.

 

It wasn’t until she reached the door of the medical wing that her heart and feet froze. Fareeha blinked, confused at herself and staring at her raised hand. It was curled into a fist, ready to knock. She was about to request entry to the medical wing. Where Angela was.

 

Fareeha shook her head violently, and lowered her hand. She turned on her heel and marched back down the corridor to her room. _Where she had always intended to go,_ Fareeha chided herself. Her ears burned as she heard the unmistakable sound of the medical wing doors open, and a voice called out that made the heat turn to a roar.

 

“Fareeha, wait! Please!” It was Angela, of course. Fareeha broke into a run, sprinting away from her. She did not dare turn, for fear that the past few weeks of repair she had done to herself would be reduced to nothing the second she set eyes on her.

 

* 

 

She did not stop running until she was sheltered with her bedroom door closed at her back. She slid down, clutching her bag close to her chest. Fareeha was breathing heavily, not from exertion, but panic. Panic at the thought of speaking to her, panic at the idea of looking at her. She shook her head again, making her vision blur. She could not stop the hammering of her heart, or her hands from shaking as they desperately curled around the straps of her bag. The Egyptian felt like she was drowning, like any air she took into her lungs was pointless and unhelpful. It did not matter how much she took in, in deep, stuttered inhales. It was still not enough. Tears were streaming down her face, thick and fast, much like the thoughts racing through her head. They, like her breaths, were repetitive and unhelpful. _This is a panic attack. I’m having a panic attack_ , Fareeha thought blindly. The thought mixed unpleasantly in her mind with Angela’s voice, her words repeating over and over like a sickening mixed tape.

 

_‘Fareeha, wait! Please!’_

_‘Fareeha, don’t go. We can talk about this.’_

_‘I…can’t Fareeha. I’m sorry. I won’t.’_

Fareeha slipped to her side, back still pressed tightly to her bedroom door as her body wracked with sobs. She focused on the sound of her own crying, and found this allowed the buzzing in her mind to quieten slowly. After what seemed like an age, she was simply sobbing, no longer hyperventilating. There was someone pushing at her bedroom door, but Fareeha remained resolutely pressed to it. She blocked the pleas for entry. She could not even identify the voice. She simply focused on her breaths, on the feeling of now welcome air passing in and out of her lungs. Whoever it was left after a few more feeble attempts.

 

 *

 

An hour passed before Fareeha rolled upright. She stood, shakily, and padded over to her bathroom. The cold jet of water filled her palms, and she splashed upwards. The chill hit her face blissfully. The burning trail of tears was numbed, and Fareeha sighed. Normally, this would be something she would report for her medical record, but – _No._ Fareeha hissed internally. She couldn’t think about it. Not right now.

 

A knock at the door broke her from self-admonishment. Fareeha jerked her gaze back to the mirror. Her eyes were still puffy and bloodshot. Thinking quickly, she changed into sleepwear and wrapped a blanket around herself. She just prayed whoever it was wasn’t her earlier intruder.

 

She opened the door, and was surprised to find an ever-grave Jack Morrison regarding her.

 

“Amari. Welcome back.” He greeted gruffly. “I’ve got a mission, wake up and get ready. We roll out in thirty.” With that, he turned with military-esque perfection and stalked back down the corridor. Fareeha blinked, and rubbed her sore eyes.

 

A mission. Already? No…no this was good. Filled with renewed energy, Fareeha grabbed her unpacked duffel bag. She changed back into the military fatigues she arrived in and jogged quickly to the hangar. She kept her head down, and the golden beads that wove through her curtain of dark hair clinked cheerfully together.

 

Soldier-76 gave her a briefing as soon as she sat on the bench of the shuttle. Lucio grinned at her from his own bench, and McCree tipped his hat. Fareeha felt her heart flutter with relief at this sight of Lucio. Good. A medic she could handle right now.

 

The priority of the mission wasn’t anything unusual, a simple escort of an expensive payload. It wasn’t even going through a Talon-active area, hence the quick execution of the mission. They would probably be home by dawn.

 

“Providing everyone follows protocol and listens to my command.” Morrison added, as he placed the datapad down on a crate. He eyed McCree carefully as he spoke, who held his hand over his chest in mock-offence.

 

Fareeha could not help but chuckle and settle a little deeper against the bench. Perhaps this mission was exactly what she needed.


	2. Pushing, pulling, I can feel it all binding.

Repeatedly, they were rattled inside the back of the transport truck. Shoulder to shoulder they sat, dimly lit by the green glow of their precious cargo. It was some kind of biohazard container, capable of unthinkable destruction and devastation, making it highly sought after for a high price and an evil intention. Naturally, Lucio was making shadow puppets with his hands in its eery luminescence.

 

The Brazillian’s comical gestures were halted as Soldier-76 snatched his hand with his own. Jack Morrison gave one of his trademark grimaces of warning, and Lucio wilted back into his cramped seat.

 

“Aw, shucks Morrison. I was bein’ entertained there. He was nearly at the good part.” McCree complained, his head lolled onto Fareeha’s shoulder and his cowboy hat tipped low over his eyes.

 

“You’re not even watching him.” Jack growled. He shook his head. “We’ve got a job to do. I don’t want anyone taking this easy.”

 

“But you said this was an easy mission…” McCree argued sleepily, his head still drooped. Lucky, for it meant he was unable to see the death stare Soldier-76 was now giving him. Fareeha had to admit, as reliably uptight and bossy as Jack normally was, he seemed to be extra so today. Perhaps she wasn’t the only one with troubles.

 

They were trundling through the Qara Oasis. There was no named position that they were meant to arrive at, only a set distance through which they were meant to travel. Apparently, it was to ensure the utmost secrecy of the biohazard’s transport. To Fareeha, it seemed an unnecessary risk and horribly unorganised. And it also made her feel extremely uneasy. Morrison gave them no name of their employer – another ploy to keep things under wraps. She shivered and rubbed the back of her neck, where the hair stood on end.

 

“I wonder what kind of biohazard we talking about here?” Lucio said, hovering his fingers over the container. He didn’t dare touch it, not because of the numerous stickers and signs of various languages telling him not to, but because he feared the look Jack was still giving McCree would shift to him. They hadn’t been given any details on the contents of the container either, but had been assured by Morrison that it was ‘need to know’. He had also been the one to sit closest to the container, and had been keeping a weary eye on it for as long as they’d been in the truck

 

“Beats me, kid. That’s the sort of thing you ask the Doc.” McCree said without thinking. He winced. Fareeha caught his eye from beneath the rim of his hat, as he looked over at her apologetically. Fareeha rolled her shoulders in a noncommittal fashion, but even still felt herself swallow a lump in her throat. Lucio watched their exchange and, looking guilty, became quiet. He reached into his bag, and grabbed his headphones.

 

“How’re you feeling, little lady?” McCree drawled quietly. He bumped her with his shoulder. Fareeha wondered why he bothered, considering the cramped conditions they were currently in, it would be impossible to have a private conversation.

 

“I’m okay.” Fareeha muttered. She saw a muscle in Jack’s jaw twitch. “Or, I will be. Just need a bit of time, I guess. I’d rather not talk about it.” McCree nodded, and pushed no further.

 

“Well, do yourself a solid and don’t get blown up in the next hour.” McCree winked. “Then you can avoid her for another couple of days.” Fareeha laughed woodenly. The idea of not seeing Angela did not fill her with optimism, but it was certainly favourable to embarrassing herself in public. She reached between her legs to her bag and pulled out a bottle of water. Fareeha took a long sip and sighed. McCree shifted next to her again, wriggling a little.

 

“Aw, shit Jack, can we pull over? I gotta take a leak.” He whined. Soldier-76 inclined his head towards him.

 

“No, you should have went before we left. Go in Pharah’s bottle.”

 

“Uh, no, he will not ‘go in my bottle’. Phareeha interjected. McCree wiggled more emphatically next to her.

 

“You tugged me outta bed in the middle of the night! What was I meant to do?!” The cowboy argued. Morrison rolled his eyes, paused, and took a breath before rapping his knuckles on the side of the van. The driver took the cue, and ground to a halt after a short minute.

 

Three of them piled out of the back of the van, with Jack deigning to keep an eye on the container. Fareeha tucked her right elbow behind her head, and tugged at her hand with her left. Her joints popped soothingly and she groaned in bliss. There was nothing of note around them, the sand dipped and collapsed pleasantly beneath their feet. A couple of dunes and rocky structures dotted the landscape, and sky had long been stained inky black in the absence of the sun.

 

McCree tipped his hat at them, then began a gentle jog towards one of the rocky outposts for modesty purposes. Lucio slipped his headphones back on and began experimenting with a little jig in the sand. Fareeha found a decent-sized rock a few feet away and sat down. Her shoulders slumped as she began to feel a little drowsy. She hadn’t slept since before her flight to Switzerland, and that was about a day ago now. Her chin drooped into her chest, and she felt herself slip into an uncomfortable slumber. Someone would wake up when it was time to go. Her mind was not blank for long, and, despite her best efforts, the only dream that took her was a memory of not too long ago.

 

_“Fareeha, stop!” Angela squealed. Fareeha paid her no mind, and kept Angela pinned to the bed between her legs. Fareeha grinned and continued to tickle the doctor mercilessly. She stilled her hands just long enough for Angela to stop squirming, then dipped her head down to press her lips to the blonde’s neck. Angela’s eyes fluttered closed and she groaned._

_Fareeha pulled back, and Angela opened her eyes to look up at her, a little flushed._

_“I love you.” Fareeha spoke softly, as if sharing a personal secret with the other woman. A muscle twitched in Angela’s jaw, and her wide eyes shone as she hesitated._

_“I know.” She said, eventually. She reached up, smiling, and hooked her arms around Fareeha’s neck quickly to pull her lips back onto her own. Fareeha tried to jerk back, but found herself locked into place._

_“Ange – let go.” Fareeha twisted in her arms, but Angela was unrelenting. She was looking at her strangely. Fareeha became acutely aware her own body seemed frozen, not just her head and heart in Angela’s embrace._

_“Let go!” Fareeha tried again. The world around her shook, and she was still tethered. Angela was looking up at her, her eyes wide with terror and tears rolled down her cheeks. She was mouthing something to Fareeha, though no sound came out. Her lips formed the words; ‘Help me. Help me. Help me. Please, Fareeha.’_

“Let go!” Fareeha yelled, her eyes flying open. She was pinned to the rock, two thick, mechanical arms holding her in place. The smell of smoke and sulphur filled her nostrils, and she coughed.

 

“Fareeha! Help me!” She heard Lucio yell. Blearily, Fareeha looked around as best she could. A robotic, humanoid figure was keeping her trapped against the rock she had propped herself up against. Lucio was being wrestled to the ground by a similar model, its mechanical hands wrapped tightly around his hair, and a hand that was nothing more than a sharpened spike was being held to the side of his head. She could hear the distinct sounds of a scuffle from within the transport vehicle, and cry of pain that sounded like Morrison. Fareeha heard a shotgun fire, twice, and felt her stomach drop.

 

_No…not **him**._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!
> 
> Thanks for all the kind comments and kudos on chapter 1, it was much appreciated! Hope this chapter is as well received! :)
> 
> Apologies for the cliffhanger.
> 
> HM


	3. What a shame, what a shame we all remain, such fragile broken things.

Sure enough, the air around her chilled and her vision was obscured momentarily by thick, black fog. A man materialised from the smoke, his coat swirling as he tucked his still-smoking barrels back into their respective sheaths. Reaper smirked as he knelt by Fareeha’s head - still pinned to the rock. She spotted a thick cut on his neck, weakly bleeding. Reaper seemed unaffected as he pulled a knife from his boot, and held it close to her throat.

 

“Think the Brazillian will write a song about this?” He sneered. Lucio was still fighting his captor valiantly, until a sickening snap echoed throughout the night air, followed by hoarse screaming. Lucio’s legs had been broken by the machine, crudely smashed into the sand. Fareeha swallowed the bile that rose in her throat and turned to glare at Reaper.

 

“You wont get away with this, Gabriel.” She spat, taunting the man with his former identity. She knew any attempt to spark regret in him would be futile, but she could not help but try and rile the man who had caused her and her family so much pain. Reaper’s expression was completely covered by the mask he now wore.

 

“I already have, little Amari.” He hissed, and twisted the knife into her neck slightly, drawing blood. “Morrison’s down. You have no Commander. And I know how well Overwatch scatter like rats without orders.”

 

“Wrong, asshole. Get the fuck off her.” Came a Southern drawl. Reaper’s head twisted back unpleasantly quick as he was on the receiving end of an uppercut. He fell backwards into the sand, his knife flying through the air and landing somewhere to Fareeha’s left.

 

McCree pinned the man to the ground, and began raining blows on his face. The humanoid robot holding Fareeha down long enough to allow her to twist her left arm, positioning it facing its chest. She fired a concussive blast through her gauntlet. She would have fired a rocket, but the splash damage would have been unpredictable and could have hit her and her comrade. The mechanical body was flung backwards in pieces, releasing her, allowing Pharah to spring into action. She fired another concussive shot at the robot by Lucio, who had evidently passed out due to the pain. Pharah then turned to where Reaper and McCree were still fighting on the the ground, McCree’s hat nowhere to be seen as he continuously rammed his fist into the side of Reaper’s skull. He was fighting without fear, without thought. He was fuelled by nothing but rage and the long-awaited chance to enact revenge upon the man who had helped tear their family apart.

 

“Jesse, stop-” Fareeha began, and to her surprise, McCree froze on top of Reaper. He then began to convulse, and roll onto his side. Just below his left ear, a dart remained pierced into his neck. Fareeha felt her blood run cold as she sprinted towards him. Reaper, breathing heavily on the ground, dematerialised.

 

She wrenched the dart from Jesse’s neck as soon as she was able, and tossed it aside. A few drops of liquid, black as night, spilled from the puncture wound on McCree’s neck.

 

“Widowmaker…” Fareeha breathed, looking franticly around the dessert. She began to drag Jesse to cover, and raised her free hand to her ear.

 

“Overwatch, I need back up, a medic – anything! We’ve been hit by Talon, we’re…” She couldn’t give coordinates. The mission hadn’t provided any specifics.

 

Fareeha cursed into the night. She dropped Jesse to the ground as a cacophony of worried responses filled her ears.

 

“Pharah, copy that! We will track you down as best we can. What…what mission are you on?” Winston sounded confused. Fareeha heard others in her ear, equally befuddled or in the midst of waking.

 

“Habibti, where are you? Why are you not on base? What is going on?” Her mother sounded distraught and alert. Fareeha could hear the distinct rustle of a bag being packed in the background.

 

“What? I’m on a mission…with Morrison…” Fareeha slowly looked up at the truck, feeling suspicion well up inside of her. What the hell was this?

 

She stormed into the back of the truck. Soldier-76 was propped against the bench, his foot jutting out awkwardly to touch the canister. Blood was trickling from his mouth, and from multiple wounds across his chest, none more grisly than the shotgun blast to his armour, placed centre mass to his stomach.

 

“Pharah…take this…” He coughed weakly, holding a knife out. The edge of the blade was painted crimson with fresh blood.  

 

“What the fuck is in it, Jack? What have you done?” Fareeha whispered, kneeling beside him. She pressed her gloved hands to his stomach. Blood seeped through her fingers, and she hesitated. Soldier-76 continued to mutter deliriously, thrusting the knife into her hands. Meanwhile, her team continued to relay information in stages in her ear.

 

“All of you, shut up.” Fareeha growled into her earpiece. “Dr Ziegler, what can I do about this?” Fareeha lowered her visor, and began transmitting her visuals back to base. She heard Angela take a sharp intake of breath upon being addressed so directly by her, but she recovered quickly, switching into her well-practiced doctor mode.

 

“Just keep applying pressure Fa- Pharah.” She ordered. “You’re doing everything you can. I’m on my way.” Fareeha nodded, forgetting the woman couldn’t see her.

 

“McCree’s been poisoned.” She added, craning her head to the still-open door. She heard Angela swear in German.

 

“Fareeha, can you-” She was cut off as the air around Fareeha chilled once more, and Reaper appeared in front of her. He levelled the barrel of his shotgun to her face, and Fareeha heard Angela scream in protest in her ear. His finger curled around the trigger, but before he could fire he was interrupted as Fareeha swept her leg beneath him, knocking him to the ground. She advanced on him, but was kicked in the chest as she reached Reaper, sending her tumbling out the truck door.

 

She skidded to a halt in the sand. Reaper jumped down, raising his dual shotguns once more. Jesse had passed out near where Fareeha was lying.

 

“Pharah…you know what to do…” That was Jack, sure enough. In all her years around him, Fareeha had never heard him sound so weak, so afraid.

 

“Blast the truck. Kill that fucker – and get that knife to Mercy.” Morrison ordered, renewed passion in his voice. She heard him cough again, and groan in pain.

 

“But, sir, the blast-” Pharah argued, even as she rose her right arm automatically.

 

“Do it, Amari! You’ll never get another opportunity like this. Do it!” Pharah hesitated, but in the end it was the absence of fear in his command that made her decision. She felt ill. She looked to her right, where McCree was deathly pale, lying motionless in the sand. Then to her left, where Lucio was a mangled heap on the ground. She swallowed. She could still hear others in her ear, begging and pleading with her with a mix of orders. Some told her to follow Jack’s orders, other told her not to dare. She distinctly felt something vibrate in her arm.

 

“I’m so sorry, Jack.” She whispered. She fired, and released a full salvo into the truck. The vehicle was enveloped in light, and for a moment, everything was silent. Reaper had ducked out of the way of the missiles, assuming they were aimed at him. Therefore, he was unable to get out of the way as the blast emanated from inside the truck, surrounding him with fire and destruction. Fareeha gripped to the back of McCree’s jacket and kicked her booster into gear, sending both herself and her commrade flying backwards and away from the explosion.

 

The last thing she felt was her back collide painfully with the back of the rock once more, and then everything went dark.

 

 

_-Flashback-_

_“Angela? You awake?” Startled, Dr Ziegler looked up from her desk with a worried expression, which quickly turned into a tight smile when she identified her visitor. Fareeha returned it as she walked further into the office. She passed a mug of coffee across to her, which Angela accepted gratefully. Fareeha leaned down to kiss her cheek, leaving a blush in its wake._

_“You’re up late…, uh, lat **er** than usual.” Fareeha the observed. Angela hummed in agreement, and she gestured to the scattered papers piled across her desk. _

_“It’s odd. I feel like I’m missing some of my research, like some notes have disappeared. I’m just trying to track them down.” Angela admitted, chewing on her pen. Fareeha raised an eyebrow._

_“Missing? Like, you think someone took your stuff?” Fareeha bent over the desk slightly, to get a closer look at the paperwork, but was interrupted by Angela shuffling the papers together hastily. The blonde stood from her desk with a teasing smile, and she moved to press her body into Fareeha’s._

_“I’m sure no one would do that, liebling.” Angela assured her. She slid her hands down the Egyptian’s body. “You’re right, it’s late, let’s get to bed, hmm?” Fareeha felt both unwilling and unable to disagree, though she caught Angela’s wandering hands before they went too far._

_“Of course, habibti. Lead the way.” Fareeha said, kissing the top of Angela’s head. The blonde smiled, and quickly began to lead Fareeha out the door. Fareeha paused to flick the light switch, and with her free hand traced a square-shaped lump in her pocket. She thumbed the jewellery box and felt her lip curl._

_-End Flashback-_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there!
> 
> Thanks again for the response to chapter 2 - hope the action in chapter 3 keeps you entertained!
> 
> HM


	4. Cause it's cold outside, when you coming home?

When the shuttle still had a few feet until landing, Dr Angela Ziegler leapt out of the open door. A handful of other Overwatch members followed her, Ana Amari amongst them. Angela took a minute to observe the scene in front of her.

 

It was a quiet kind of chaos. A smoking wreck of a vehicle stood a little ways East. It had been a few hours since they had received Fareeha’s call for help, and a sandstorm had picked up since. Despite the weather, it was impossible to miss the trademark glint of sapphire and gold peeking out under a small pile of sand.

 

“ _Fareeha_.” Angela breathed, breaking into a sprint. She was in there in a matter of seconds, pulling the woman upright from where she lay, awkwardly splayed over a rock. Her helmet visor was cracked deeply, and judging by the groans coming out of Fareeha as she was shifted, there was definitely more damage than met the eye.

 

“Liebling, what happened?” Angela murmured, undoing the fastenings of Fareeha’s armour much like one would undress themselves. Pure muscle memory and intuition. The metal plates fell away one by one, revealing more cuts and contusions than those Angela originally spotted marring Fareeha’s neck. There was a particularly deep wound, clearly caused by a knife edge, that ran around the curve where the Egyptian’s neck met her shoulder. Angela thumbed it while around her more teammates were discovered in the aftermath of the storm.

 

“Lucio’s here! Fuck me, what happened to his legs?” Tracer cried, then retched and vomited into the sand. Angela felt torn between the desire to run over and stabilise her friend, or at least see to his mangled legs, and stay where she was, cradling Fareeha in her arms as she began to stir. _I made this decision before,_ she thought to herself.

 

“Reaper…it was Reaper…” She heard Fareeha mumble. Angela froze. Sure enough, now that she looked closer, spent shotgun casings littered the ground around them, leading from the smoking carnage in the distance, to the rock where Fareeha was discovered.

 

“Be alert! Talon presence confirmed.” Angela yelled authoritavely. She hesitated, then lowered Fareeha back onto the sand. As she waved over Reinhardt with instructions on how best to load Fareeha onto the shuttle, Angela silenced the niggling thoughts in her head about proving herself right. The guilt began to creep up on her as she braced Lucio’s legs with handmade splints. A temporary fix, but the best she could do under the circumstances.

 

Finally, and unfortunately, they found McCree last. He was strewn away from the rest, but closest to Phareeha, as if he had been rag-dolled from her location by a tremendous force. At first, Angela was convinced he was dead. His lips were blue, and his unshaven cheek was chalk white beneath the stubble. But when she felt at his neck to inspect a puncture wound, she felt it. A weak, possibly mistakable pulse. She pressed her fingers deeper into his neck, barely daring to believe, but yes. He was alive, just. Angela became like a woman possessed, barking orders at her teammates, immediately leaping into work.

 

“Get Pharah awake, someone!” She demanded, between ripping a piece of tape off with her teeth to hold the IV in place on Jesse’s wrist. “I need more information about what happened here. Everyone else, search the debris for any clues.”

 

Angela went to work inside the shuttle, pouring over McCree, who had been placed rather unceremoniously on top of a gurney bolted to the floor. Tracer blinked beside her suddenly, holding one hand over her eyes, the other outstretched and holding a sand-caked dart. Angela snatched it quickly, allowing Tracer to disappear once more. She studied the contents, the liquorice-black liquid that still seeped slowly from the tip. She was so engrossed, she barely noticed a hunched Fareeha be helped into the shuttle by Reinhardt and Ana. Angela turned, still holding the dart in her hands. Fareeha stiffened further, if possible, upon making eye contact with her. She saw the Egyptian swallow, and after what seemed like an eternity, she nodded at the dart in Angela’s hand.

 

“Widowmaker. He was shaking, I took it out as soon as I could, but then Jack…” Fareeha blinked. Tears slowly began to trail down her cheeks, clearing a path in the dirt and sand that stuck to her skin.

 

“Jack’s dead.” It was barely a whisper that passed through Fareeha’s lips, but in the respectful silence of the makeshift treatment area, everyone heard it. They had all seen the footage from Fareeha’s vision, but everything had happened so fast, the dark truth had yet to truly become a reality until confirmed.

 

“You did everything you could, habibti.” Ana was the first to speak, quick to comfort her daughter, though her one remaining eye looked haunted in defeat. Angela had tried to speak, but the words died in her throat. She wanted to reach out the Fareeha, to caress her burnt cheek and wipe away the crusted blood. But it wasn’t her place to comfort Fareeha anymore. She couldn’t - _wouldn’t_ \- do anything about Fareeha’s pain but treat her wounds. Ana helped her daughter sit down, and began talking in slow, probing Arabic. Angela turned her back on them, and continued to split her time between Jesse and Lucio until they were ready for extraction.

 

“I didn’t mother, I didn’t do my best. I’m not my best…I…” She heard Fareeha choke a sob back, and Angela had to bite down hard on her lip to stop herself from letting all the comforting words and instincts out that she so desperately wished to express. She tasted blood in her mouth, but remained resolute, her hands moving of their own accord at the point. The shuffle shifted below their feet, a sign it was taking off. The site had been cleared as best they could, and Fareeha had taken to resting with her head on her mother’s shoulder. Her eyes remained open, her expression blank. Ana carded a hand through her black tresses, humming an Arabic lullaby that for once failed to soothe.

 

Angela was studying the poison once more, when she felt someone tug her sleeve. It was Tracer once more. She look tired and withdrawn, not at all her usual bubbly self. She was clearly one of the first to register what had occurred. That their strike commander was dead, that their own had been gravely wounded. And that, once again, Gabriel had betrayed them in the worst way possible. Angela herself couldn’t allow her mind to slow long enough to fully grasp what had happened. She would, with time, but for now, her patients needed her. And she…she needed them.

 

She was snapped out of her internal reverie by Tracer as she held her hand out once more. This time there was no dart, but a small box. Wrapped in smooth velvet. Angela felt the blood drain from her face as she recognised it.

“Where…where did you find that?” Angela asked quietly. Tracer shrugged.

 

“Where I found most things. In the sand.” She answered. She snapped open the box and admired the ring that sat on top of a small cushion inside. “It’s real pretty.” Before she could stop herself, Angela had snatched the box from Tracer’s gloved hand. Tracer flinched, but looked at Angela challengingly.

 

“It’s none of my business.” Tracer would say quietly, but her mouth remained set in a hard line. Whatever she wanted to say next was wisely kept within in her own head.

 

“It’s real pretty.” She muttered again, then blinked away, leaving Angela alone and holding the box. Angela held it out in front of herself like it was hot or explosive. Her fingers trembled as she pushed her thumb into the velvet crease, applying pressure to the hinge and revealing the ring inside.

 

It was nothing short of beautiful. Simple, elegant, complete with a blue gem that much reflected the depth of Angela’s own sapphire eyes.

 

 

_-Flashback-_

_It had been a long, arduous evening of paperwork, patrol flights, and cooking for the two of them. At the end of the day, Fareeha and Angela wanted nothing more than to curl up into one another with a bottle of wine and something mindless to ignore on the radio. And so, that was where they found themselves._

_Angela always took slightly longer to unwind than Fareeha. It was more of a stretch to go from one of the most gifted scientist-slash-surgeons in the world to the long t-shirt, messy bun and underwear combo she currently had going on. Fareeha barely had to swallow a beer and tug off her training jacket to feel at home. So, she took it upon herself to toss the cushions aside on Angela’s sofa, pull down the comforter that was draped uniformly across the back of the seat, and chill some wine along with two polished glasses. There was a distinct weight in her pocket that she was trying to ignore, but as she reached inside to thumb the velvet box, she felt her heart skip a beat. She swallowed, trying to keep her nerves in check._

_The Egyptian shook her head and smiled. She quickly lit some incense just as she heard the bathroom door open and her girlfriend emerged, no longer the stressed doctor she had been._

 

_“Our little love-nest looks adorable, mein shatz.” Angela murmured, wrapping her arms around Fareeha’s neck. Fareeha dipped down slightly to capture Angela’s lips and kiss her sweetly. She felt Mercy push her hips into Fareeha seductively and quickly jerked her body back. Angela looked at her as she broke the kiss, confused._

_“Everything okay, Fareeha?”_

_“I’m fine, ya amar.” Fareeha assured, smiling. “I just want to sit down, is all. Come, lie with me.” The blonde smiled back, satisfied and eager enough to get off of her feet._

_Fareeha lay propped against the arm of the sofa, Angela resting between her legs. Wordlessly, Fareeha passed Angela her tablet so that she may become engrossed in whatever medical journal had her up late the night previously. She was rewarded with a small kiss on the cheek as Angela’s pale face was lit up by the screen._

_She must have fallen asleep fairly soon after making sure Angela was settled, for when Fareeha next awoke, Angela was no longer snuggled against her. She was instead perched on the other arm of the sofa. She was hunched slightly, but Fareeha could trace the outline of her eyes, which were wide, and her lips, which were parted in an expression of shock._

_In her hands was no longer the tablet, but a velvet box._

_Immediately, Fareeha reached down to her pocket, and found it to be regretfully empty._

_“Angela…” Fareeha whispered, feeling her cheeks redden. Angela’s head snapped in her direction as she jumped. The box fell from her hands, and rolled clumsily, stopping between them._

_“I…it fell out of your pocket…I thought it was your phone or something.” Angela muttered. She didn’t move to pick up the box._

_“I was going to…I was wondering if-“_

_“Don’t ask me.” Angela interrupted her. The words were not harsh, but they nonetheless made Fareeha’s blood run cold. Abruptly, Angela stood, facing Fareeha. It was only then that the Egyptian realised Angela had been crying._

_“I’m sorry. I don’t think I can do this anymore.” Angela said quickly. She knelt down and began to snatch her work clothes that she had previously abandoned. Fareeha gaped at Angela, but recovered long enough to reach out and grab her arm as she went to pass._

_“Angela – what the hell? Wait! Don’t go, I…I get it, I won’t ask…” Angela wouldn’t look at her. She instead stared at Fareeha’s hand wrapped around her thin wrist._

_“I can’t marry you Fareeha. I…” Angela swallowed. Tears began to fall from her eyes once more. “I just can’t. You deserve better. Please let me go.” Feeling numb, Fareeha uncurled her fingers. Her arm remained outstretched, her hand empty, long after Angela walked out._

_-Flashback-_

“I’ll take that.” Angela whirled round to find Fareeha standing nervously a few feet away. She was eyeing the velvet box, which remained open in Angela’s palm. Her expression was guarded, though she was unable to mask the pain she felt from standing. She had her hand held out expectantly, a mirror to Angela’s previous thoughts.

 

Silently, Angela stepped forward. She snapped the box shut, and pressed it into Fareeha’s palm. Fareeha still did not look at her, but raised her other arm to pass something into Angela’s now vacant hand.

 

“Jack wanted you to have this. Said it was important.” Fareeha then turned on her heel, and returned to her mother’s side. Angela looked down.

  
In her grasp was a standard army knife. She recognised it as Jack’s. The hilt was crusted with sand and damp blood. The blade itself still shone with an umber liquid. She looked closer, and could smell something vaguely foreign in the stain.

 

“Who did Jack use this on?” Angela asked quietly. She dragged her gaze up slowly to meet Fareeha’s eyes, and forced herself not to flinch at the sunken and pained expression.

 

“Reaper.” Was the reply she received. And at once, Jack’s previous secrecy and odd launching of this mission, and his sudden sacrifice, made sense to her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So major apologies for the lateness of this chapter! I made the mistake of pre-writing a lot of the fic so I was able to post regularly, but towards the end of what I had ready for upload I had to travel out of town to see my partner for some time and haven't been able to write! 
> 
> Hope this chapter slightly makes it up to you all, I'll try my best to at least make my uploads weekly. Sorry again!


	5. I've got royalty, got loyalty.

The flight back to Overwatch base seemed to pass quickly for Fareeha. She felt comforted by her mother’s presence, and by the gentle rumble of Reinhardt’s chest as he snored quietly on her other side. She had stood exactly twice, once to check on Lucio, and the other time to shuffle to the hyperbaric chamber that Jesse had to been quickly moved to after take-off. Angela had thankfully managed to halt whatever poison was coursing through his veins, but thought it best to keep him in isolation until she had the full power of her clinic at her fingertips. Lucio’s legs had been mercifully reset and strapped while he was unconscious and additionally sedated. The still looked crooked, even beneath the white sheet Mei had draped over them, mostly to prevent Tracer (once again) retching apologetically into the paper bag she held tight between her fingers.

 

The Brit still looked ghostly white as she sat with her arms wrapped around her hunched knees, her pointed chin propped heavily in the crevice where her legs met. Zarya sat solemn next to her, an arm wrapped around her shoulder. No one had spoken since take-off. No one dared look at the black body bag that lay ceremoniously on one of the few bolted down gurneys. Reinhardt had reclaimed his old friend from the flame of the burning transport, placed him within the bag per Angela’s strained instructions, and zipped it up in one fluid motion. He hadn’t spoken since.

 

Angela disappeared to a quiet corner as soon as Fareeha had given her the knife. The Egyptian watched as the doctor treated the blade with the utmost delicate care, slowly collecting the dark blood using a plastic tip, and depositing it swiftly into a glass tube. She stoppered it, added some sort of clear liquid, watched the colour change, nodded to herself, and continued collecting small samples that were aliquoted into labelled tubes. Fareeha had no clue what she was searching for, but whatever she found seemed to please her. Once, their eyes had met through the clear glass of the blood reciprocal, and Angela had frozen in her own ministrations. Fareeha too, found herself unable to look away. But the moment passed with the change of the colour of blood, and both women found great interest in their shoes.

 

“Mama, did Jack not tell you about our mission?” Fareeha asked quietly, trying to busy herself. Ana looked down at her child, her unpatched eye sharp with sympathy.

 

“No, Fareeha. He did not. The man was accustomed to late night raids, but he was undeniably by-the-book. It is most unusual.” Ana admitted. Reinhardt, who had awoken sometime between Fareeha’s visit of the wounded, scratched his chin, opened his mouth to say something, but quickly closed it again, opting to sigh instead.

 

“Unusual. Ja.” Reinhardt croaked timidly. It was the tone of his voice that truly broke Fareeha out of the bubble of shock she’d been experiencing. This man, this human tower, was _frightened_.

 

Reinhardt was scared, because Jack Morrison, Agent 76, their leader – was dead.

 

And none of them knew what to do next.

 

*

 

Winston greeted them in the hangar. His spectacles sat loosely on the bridge of his nose, and he had to push them further up to meet his eyes and take in the scale of tragedy and injury that poured out from the landed shuttle. His great big hands trembled around his standard clipboard when Jack’s body bag was carried down the ramp between Reinhardt and Zarya. One of them could have easily carried him, but no one felt ready to shoulder the burden alone of delivering him home.

 

Wordlessly, the injured were transported to Angela’s clinic, though the doctor was not among them. Fareeha frowned as she counted the heads of her compatriots. She shook her hand free from her mother’s and motioned for Ana to continue on without her. An understanding eye blinked back at her, mother and daughter sharing a common moment of silent communication.

 

Fareeha clambered once more into the shuttle. It was dimly lit purely by the open door, and in the corner still stood Angela. She was a solitary figure, half cast in shadow. She still held a small bundle of glass tubes in her hands, but they no longer held her attention. The knife was wrapped in a plastic sealed bag, the tip which was just peeking out of the top of Angela’s boot.

Once again, Fareeha did not realise immediately that Angela was crying. Her shoulders were not shaking, and no sob left her lips. The only evidence of her own upset were the twin tracks of tears that fell silently down her beautiful face. The sight cause Fareeha’s heart to ache and her arms to flex with the desire to wrap Angela between them. And she did.

 

She had almost forgotten what Angela’s hair smelled like. How it felt when it tickled under her nose, or the way Angela’s cheek fit in the curve of Fareeha’s shoulder. The doctor did not fight the embrace, but instead sunk into it, her arms timidly reaching around Fareeha’s back, momentarily mindful of her injuries.

 

They stood like that for what could have been minutes, or hours. It did not compute that time had passed at all until Angela took one deep breath, paused, then took another. She pulled away, her face once more a mask of emotionless concern.

 

She wiped her face with her free hand, clearing away the previous evidence. “I need to go. They need me.” She walked quickly away from Fareeha, down the ramp. The doors hissed and parted before she could reach them, granting her access.

 

“Welcome back, Dr Ziegler.” Athena greeted. Angela did not respond, the only sound she allowed being the sharp click of her heels as they echoed and gradually faded down the corridor. Fareeha watched her go, then wrapped her arms around herself and began walking towards the hangar exit. She wouldn’t attend the clinic quite yet. She would allow Angela time to see to the desperately wounded, maybe even wait for herself to be summoned by Athena before going.

 

“Welcome back, Strike Commander Amari.” Athena chirped automatically. The doors slid open for Fareeha, and she entered. She began walking towards the kitchen, her chest yearning for some of the warmth only her mother’s tea could provide, when she stopped dead in her tracks.

 

“Athena? What did you just call me?”

 

*

 

“This is preposterous.” Ana snapped, her offence punctuated with a slap of her hand on the conference room table. Winston bared his teeth slightly, before sighing.

 

“Maybe to you, Ana. But it is protocol. Soldier-76, before he passed, authorised a shift in command. He bestowed that honour upon Fareeha.” Ana snorted.

 

“’Honour’” She quoted derisively. “He passed the buck after whatever hair-brained suicide mission he’d launched went astray! He made my daughter Strike Commander mere seconds before he was blown to pieces!” Ana was breathing heavily by the end of her outburst, her dark skin scorched with anger as she physically seethed. There was a loud crack as the chair Reinhardt had recently vacated flew backwards into the wall, sending splinters everywhere.

 

“That is enough!” He boomed from across the table. He leaned forward on both of his gauntleted hands, and met Ana’s furious stare with one of his own. The whole room went deathly quiet, for no one had ever seen this particularly duo angry at one another.

 

“You are grieving, Ana. You are in shock. But do not let your judgement of Jack, or your worry for Fareeha, allow you to tarnish the memory of the man you once know. We know nothing. Nothing.” He repeated emphatically. Ana opened her mouth to argue, true to her fighting spirit, but found herself interrupted by Athena.

 

“Attention all: Dr Ziegler wishes to report that Agents Mcree and Santos have been stabilised. Have a good day.” Athena buzzed. The air around them immediately softened as some of the tension from the day’s hardship passed. Ana pinched the bridge of her nose, and sighed with relief.

 

“I apologise. I…had known Jack a long time. And you’re right, Wilhelm. I worry for Fareeha. She is my daughter, and this role is…something I never wanted for her. Excuse me.” Ana turned on her heel and exited the meeting room. Fareeha rubbed the bracelet on her wrist uncomfortably, suddenly acutely aware of the weight. It had activated and changed in the last few seconds of Jack Morrison’s life, as he passed the Overwatch baton onto _her_ of all people. She had felt the vibration, had pinned it down absentmindedly in the chaos of the fight to the aftershock of the explosion. But no, it was in fact Soldier-76 resigning as Strike Commander as officially as he could manage.

 

“Why me?” She hadn’t meant to speak aloud, and blushed as several pairs of eyes fell on her. Mei, Tracer, Zarya, all gazed at her sympathetically. Reinhardt had that same fear in his eyes that had glossed his vision on the shuttle.

  
Winston was the first to speak. “Because you are a leader, Fareeha. You led your team in Egypt. And now you lead us.” He looked around at the room at large, receiving many eager nods in return.

 

“We’ll give you time to think this over. In the meantime, the Strike Commander’s quarters need cleared and Jack’s possessions need to be claimed and destroyed, per his request.” Winston spoke in a determinedly organised manner. He shuffled the papers in his hands resolutely.

 

“Dismissed. Ah, wait. Fareeha – can you…?” She stared at him, confused for a moment, then blushed in realisation and rubbed the back of her neck.

 

“Ah. Yeah. Uh…dismissed.”

 

*

 

Fareeha had never been in Jack’s room before. It was a ways down the corridor from her, and he wasn’t the kind to warrant any noise complaint, nor was he likely to welcome company.

 

Unsurprisingly, the room was immaculate and orderly. Fareeha could imagine Morrison bouncing nickels on his mattress after he made his bed, quilt tucked tight between the cushion and the frame. There was a large desk with a single chair. There were tidy piles of papers and well-kept black leather journals adorning the desk.

 

As Fareeha sat down, trying to imagine herself filling Jack’s shoes and overseeing Overwatch in his memory, she couldn’t help but notice the scribbles on the whiteboard nailed above the desk. It was a timetable, scheduling Jack’s day-to-day activities. She snorted. She only knew one other person who organised their day down to the minute. Actually, Angela’s name was dotted frequently in the margins.

 

She was there a lot. When did they have all these meetings? Fareeha frowned as she leaned in closer, her finger tracing over the past few months. They had met nearly every day in the last fortnight.

 

“I was on holiday.” Fareeha muttered. Before that, they had been meeting weekly, early in the mornings, or noticeably, on days where Jack had scheduled missions for the other Overwatch members.

 

“I was on all those missions.” Her forehead creased. What on Earth were they doing? Angela had never mentioned meeting with Jack, not even once. He had never been around the clinic, except for the usual treatments and check-ups. What were they doing, that involved Fareeha either being off base, or busy with morning exercise?

 

“Son of a _bitch_.”

 

*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! Kept my promise of a weekly update this time. (I think.) I'm away for a couple of days as of tomorrow, but should hopefully keep up the same schedule. Maybe the great outdoors will provide some more inspiration! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> HM


	6. We're not lovers, we're just strangers.

“I still find it preposterous, habibti.”

 

Fareeha was a good daughter, she liked to think. She honoured her mother, respected her with every breath she took, and shaped her entire life and morals to match that of Ana. When she thought that her mother had been killed for those few months, her life had felt barren, deserted of purpose. She had missed her mother deep within her bones, and though she felt frozen with betrayal when she read her mother’s letter, she couldn’t help but be thawed with relief to know she was still out there, somewhere, somehow. And it was all because she loved her mother, and felt a bond to her in a way that was permanent more so than the tattoo etched beneath their eyes.

 

Fareeha was a good daughter, but she was about to launch her mother out the office window if she continued for much longer.

 

“I know, mother.” Fareeha sighed again, in weary Arabic. “You have made yourself perfectly clear.”

“You are much too young!” Ana declared, gesturing at Fareeha. Her daughter sat timidly in Jack’s old seat, and though Fareeha had always been tall for her age, she was simply too small in frame for the Strike Commander’s armchair. It eclipsed her shoulders easily, and there was at least a good half metre or so between the top of Fareeha’s dark crown and the head of the chair. Ana’s gaze traced her daughter’s shape, and her frown deepened.

 

Fareeha, noting the movement of her mother’s solitary eye, straightened, and tried to make herself a little bigger. She cleared her throat.

 

“Your concern has been noted, Captain Amari. Anything else?” Fareeha said, in as an authoritative tone as she could muster. Ana literally flinched in surprise, and immediately the corner of her mouth twitched.

 

“ _Captain_ , is it?” Ana responded, her Arabic suddenly solemn and uncomplimentary to the smile threatening to break through. Fareeha’s own jaw tensed, before she released a bark of a laugh, unable to keep up the façade any longer. Ana joined her, and the two suddenly fell into a comfortable lull of giggles. The older Egyptian took a seat, wiping her eye.

 

“Fine.” She sighed, leaning over to tidy Fareeha’s desk, which was littered with papers. “But if you’re to be Strike Commander, my little bird, you must finally learn some kind of organisation.”

 

“Whatever you say, mother.” Fareeha muttered, snatching a few folders from Ana’s hands. “I need those.”

 

“Why on Earth have you got paper lying around? Have you not learned the wonders of an automated, electronic system, child?” Ana chided, though she relinquished her hold and switched back to her heavily accented English.

 

“These aren’t my papers.” Fareeha explained. “They’re Jack’s, or rather, they’re Angela’s, but I found this stuff when I cleared his office.” Ana looked at her, shocked.

 

“And you haven’t returned her work to the Doctor?” Ana questioned sharply.

 

“No, I have not.” Fareeha replied, in a clipped tone. “If she wants to keep secrets from me, I can keep something from her.” There was a beat of silence as Ana stared at her, clearly trying to read her expression for the answers she sought.

 

“ _Fareeha Amari_.” Ana spoke slowly. The Arabic had returned. Despite being 32-years-old, Fareeha could not help the shiver that ran down her spine at her mother’s tone. She felt like she was in trouble, and guilt crept into her bones without warning. One brown eye, so similar to her own, remained locked on her. She suddenly felt an empathy with the victims of her mother’s sniper rifle.

 

“What aren’t you telling me, habibti?” Ana asked, suddenly soft. She wrapped her gnarled hands around Fareeha’s, stretching across the desk.

 

“I know you two are going through difficulties…” Ana trailed off, giving Fareeha a moment to speak. Fareeha squirmed, but knew there was little point in trying to avoid her mother now that she had smelled figurative blood.

 

“I proposed. And Angela said no. And she never explained why.” Fareeha swallowed.

 

“And I think her and Jack were having an affair.”

 

If it were possible, Ana’s jaw would have easily hit the desk below her. She felt floored, but immediately incredulous.

 

“Angela? And J-jack?” She spluttered. “No, child. You are very much mistaken. She was like a daughter to him and Jack…they weren’t suited to each other.” Ana coughed, a red tinge taking over her cheeks. Fareeha eyed her mother suspiciously, almost not daring to believe.

 

“Are you sure?” Fareeha asked. “They had been meeting in secret an awful lot, and Angela seems incredibly upset by his death.”

 

“Of course she’s upset, Fareeha.” Ana rolled her eye. “Her commander just died, her friend for many, _many_ years. But not her lover. Her panic and focus was most certainly focused on _you_ that night.” Fareeha seemed to be listening, but not quite believing. Ana sighed.

 

“Fareeha, I only ever saw Jack have feelings for one person, and believe me when I say they were as far from Angela as you could possibly get.” Ana spoke no further, and she eyed Fareeha in a way that made her know not to question or probe her mother.

 

“Okay, okay. I get it. They weren’t having an affair.” Fareeha held her hands up in surrender. “I would still like to know what the hell they were working on, and why Angela never told me about it. Do you know anything about what Jack and Angela were researching? Her notes were all in German, and with them being on paper, I can’t get Athena to translate.”

 

Ana shook her head, “No. I know not what they were conspiring with. But, my dear daughter – did you ever think about asking Angela? About both the research, and why she said no?”

 

“Of course not. I’ve not spoken to her since that night.” Fareeha crossed her arms stubbornly.

 

Ana nodded. “I see.” She began to fiddle with something on her arm. “When are we next having tea, habibti? My balcony is getting littered with leaves.” Fareeha tilted her head, confused at her mother’s change of subject.

 

“Um…whenever you want, mother. My schedule is currently dictated by organising everyone’s meal times, apparently.” She gestured at Athena’s pod in the office. The pod glowed blue, and Athena’s automated voice spoke to her.

 

“Strike Commander, Doctor Ziegler is here to see you now.” Fareeha’s eyes widened, and she froze in her much-too-big seat.

 

“I did not summon her.” She stuttered. “Tell her to…go away?” She sounded pathetic, she knew it, but at that moment she felt such a strong wave of panic engulf her, she did not care. Across from her, her mother smiled.

 

“You didn’t but I did. The perks of being your second-in-command.” Ana waved her communicator on her arm, pleased with herself.

 

“Who made you second-in-command?” Fareeha snapped, stung by her mother’s betrayal. Ana blinked, unconcerned by her tone.

 

“I did.” She stated, matter-of-fact. “Are you going to say otherwise, habibti?” Ana questioned, a very light threat laced in her words. Fareeha groaned, sinking down in her seat.

 

“No. Dismissed.” She mumbled, holding her hand over her eyes.

 

“Is there something wrong with Fareeha, Ana?” Fareeha felt her heart drop at Angela’s question. It was so full of concern, though she must know she was in no immediate danger. Even still, Angela cared quickly, and unwaveringly. Her heart still ached with complete love for her, even through the hurt she felt when she remembered Angela’s rejection.

 

“No, she is fine. Just suffering from her father’s inability to face facts.” Ana surmised. She swept from the room, closing the door quietly behind her. Ana was there one moment, and gone the next, like a ghost.

 

Fareeha remained sunk for a little while longer, before she eased herself upright on her elbows. She gripped the arms of her chair, and finally looked at Angela.

 

Angela, for all intent and purpose, always looked stunning to Fareeha. But even she could tell something was not quite right. The doctor was paler than usual, her hair had been scrapped into a bun but not clipped correctly to avoid stray strands slipping from their hold. Dark shadows underlined sunken eyes, and she’d clearly not been eating well. She wasn’t looking at Fareeha though, more staring at the scattered papers on her desk. The same papers that were covered with Angela’s handwriting.

 

Maybe her mother had a point about being more organised.

 

“I…I wanted to ask you a few questions.” Fareeha said quietly. Angela still did not look at her. Her eyes were rapidly moving from paper to paper, drinking in her own words. Fareeha squinted at her a little, and recognised the movement as a sign that Angela was just as nervous as she was. Panicked, even. Fareeha decided to take a different route.

 

“Why did you say no?” She asked. Angela’s head snapped upwards, her eyes leaving the papers and finally meeting Fareeha’s. The Swiss doctor’s mouth opened slightly with surprise.

 

“What?” Her voice was barely above a whisper. She sounded pitifully tired. Fareeha bit her lip.

 

“Okay. Sorry. Maybe you don’t want to talk about that right now…how about you explain this?” Fareeha gestured to the papers. Angela looked back down, and went quiet once more.

 

“I can do both.” Angela said, her voice trembling a little. She looked up at Fareeha again, and the Egyptian was taken aback as she saw tears trailing down Angela’s cheeks. Numbly, Angela began to pick up the papers, sorting them into an order that Fareeha could not fathom.

 

“A while ago, some of my papers went missing. Notes I kept from Athena, because I worried we would get hacked. You saw the automated humanoid machines recently. Talon has a hacker in their midst, has done for some time. Her name is Sombra.” Angela began to explain. She was fiddling with her hands in her lap, twisting her wrists and pressing her thumbs together. Fareeha nodded, encouraging her to continue. Her memory traced back to the night she had walked in on Angela cursing, combing her desk for papers. She hadn’t thought it odd for Angela not to simply summon Athena in her search, and then she had become quickly distracted by Angela’s lips at her neck and hands at her waist.

 

“The papers in question…my research focused on Reaper. Or well, Gabriel before he became Reaper.” Angela continued, breaking Fareeha from her reverie.

 

“Okay.” Fareeha coughed, settling herself. “And Jack found out?”

  
Angela nodded. “Jack stole my papers. When I confronted him, he said he was entitled to confiscate any research of mine if he felt it could be detrimental to the team, or concern the team. Arguably, he still considered Gabriel to be his responsibility almost as much as I do.” Angela sighed. “So we began to work together. It was the only way I could keep it progressing. But Jack wanted updates. Constantly.”

 

“What about Reap- Gabriel were you researching?” Fareeha’s tongue barbed at the pronunciation of his name. Of the man she had been awe-struck of as a child. The man that nearly played a part in the death of her mother and now herself as well.

 

“I was looking at how his cells repaired themselves, but still managed to die. To perform apoptosis.” Angela caught herself before she became too scientific. It was a nervous habit of hers to hide behind jargon. She liked to feel in charge of a conversation, and often the best way to do that was to overwhelm her company with complex words and superior knowledge. But not with Fareeha. She never wanted to feel in command around Fareeha, was not concerned with protecting herself when the Egyptian was around. For she knew that Fareeha delighted in protecting her.

“Why?” Fareeha asked simply. Angela’s jaw clenched.

 

“My original reason was so I could compare it with the way my own cells have reacted to the application of my technology. The repair mechanism was always a prototype, and still is in my opinion. It isn’t perfect. Jack saw another potential.” Angela’s expression darkened and she stiffened in her seat.

 

“He saw how my research into Gabriel’s cells could possibly be turned against Reaper. To kill the man who can’t die.” Fareeha, to her credit, looked surprised. She folded her hands in her lap and seemed to consider something for some time. Finally, she stood and walked around the desk. She sat beside Angela and reached slowly over with one hand. She touched Angela’s elbow, then her wrist, finally settling on the back of her hand. It hovered there briefly, letting Angela deny her if she wanted. She didn’t.

 

Fareeha released a breath and held her hand lightly. “But what is wrong with your cells, Angela?” Of course. Angela recoiled inwardly. Of course Fareeha dissected what she had just said, and isolated the part that concerned Angela. Had ignored the possibility of removing their long-term enemy, of ridding themselves of the past that had destroyed Overwatch once already. Fareeha’s vision had become clouded with concern for her. Angela felt both elation and terrible sadness all at once. She rubbed her thumb across the Fareeha’s knuckles.

 

“I am a bit like Reaper.” Angela said slowly. “My cells aren’t quite as quickly responsive as his, but the results are similar. I am not ageing like I should be.” She took a breath.

 

“I can’t die, Fareeha.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'm clearly very terrible at updating. I do apologise for this!
> 
> At the start of the month, I finally got accepted into a PhD programme, a long-term goal of mine. Since then, I've been visiting labs and meeting with advisors to nail down a plan of action for the project I'm going to be undertaking for the next four years. Therefore, I've lacked both the time and energy to update - I'm also the kind of writer who prefers to write in long chunks rather than short spurts. So I tend to need a good bit of time in the day and inspiration to get things done!
> 
> Thankfully, I came across some damn good music that set me on the right path. (Halsey's newest track with Lauren Jauregui, also the source for the chapter title)
> 
> Anywho, my updates will be sporadic at best, but I can assure you all that I know with 100% certainty of the direction this fic will take and what will occur in the next chapters. Ain't no writers block here! 
> 
> Thanks for reading, and being patient folks. 
> 
> HM

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there!
> 
> I used to write fanfiction quite regularly until I left home for University, but five years and one degree later, I've found myself in a gap between careers. So, I've decided to return to a bit of writing, and my current video game fix is Overwatch.
> 
> Funny story, I had been writing a longer piece for around two weeks now, but it never felt right. This idea of of a story arc came to me today and flowed without issue, so I decided to post it and see what the response was like. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! I apologise for the vagueness of the situation currently, but more will develop as we journey along. Fareeha's panic attack was based on my own personal experiences.
> 
> HM


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